Brown Sugared Figs
by bored565
Summary: He was a boy, she was a girl. In the time of a new order Fred Weasley's pranks are being threatened by the pressure of growing up. FWOC. It's her life but they've got expectations she doesn't want to deal with. Charming, and adventurous.
1. An Introduction of Sorts

Sometimes I find myself wishing that life were just a big painting. That when we wanted to name a child we could name it something beautiful- like the color of the candle sitting on my dresser. Unfortunately as beautiful as the color is, naming my child Brown sugar and fig- isn't. I wish I could just say what I wanted to say- that a flow of pictures would come unraveling out of my mouth like the movie films that they used to have. They'd sparkle and the little squares would move around as the people inside them would dance in orange and yellow leaves scarves spinning in the wind. Maybe that's my problem… I can't express myself as well as I wish I could. If I love someone I want to sing and shout but what I want to sing and shout aren't words or songs. They're an emotion. They say that art is a way of expressing your emotion. They lie. You can't put an image to an emotion.

Sorry.

The day is July 14, it is a Monday. I sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for my phone to ring- for her to call. I know she won't. I told her she shouldn't. And if she does- I won't answer. Still though, I wait. I sit here and I wait as the clouds roll by and drops of rain hit the window pane from the big gray sky all the way to my little cottage. The window seat is far too bright for me. The colors overwhelm me as I sit here and I wait. My phone sits next to me, well aware of the task I ask it to perform. It must ring, and ring and ring. And then pop- to the voicemail where I will sit here and cry gracefully as I realize what I've ruined. Holding my head in my elbows with my knees tucked up and I lean against the window pane as the rain falls down. I have it all worked out. It shall be a lovely sad day here, beautiful and moving for any neighbor who watches the scene.

The beige walls threaten to overthrow my little window seat. I understand them though. I can relate. They feel threatened by such bright bright warm colors and they dull in comparison to them- they are not nearly as beautiful as them and they cannot hope to be as brilliant or embroidered as my throw pillow. How sad I think they must be to watch people everyday hug that pillow, to fall in love as they sit on this very window seat and giggle and stare at each other. Not that anyone has fallen in love here granted- but if and when they do, the walls shall be very sad. How awfully lonely to be a beige wall. How terribly insecure I would feel. Not that I don't already- considering that the phone has yet to ring.

Oh yes, I know I said I'd never speak to her again, and I won't. But it doesn't make a girl feel any better to know that they won't at least try to call you. And when they do you'd cry gracefully say to yourself, "Self, this is for the best. Now you shant spend any more time like this. It's over, this girl is no longer your best friend and for good reason to, she'll never deserve you. How absolutely terrible of her to think that you-I'd- be wiling to back down on my stance against her. She ruins our relationship and expects me to just come back to her and wait around for her. No." And I'd wipe away my tears with a little sniffle and get up. But I can't do that yet, I still have to wait for her to call me. How awfully like my beige walls I feel. I think I understand now how they must feel. How terrible.

The phone still doesn't ring. And I still sit here and aknowledge the fact that I am terribly awfully like my walls. The rain reminds me of crying, but I can't cry yet because I have to wait for my voicemail to kick in. Oh how I wish I could just cry to get it over with but patience is a virtue. I'll sit here all day if I must. Yes, I will. I don't especially like mondays, they always seem to be revolting against the rest of the week. Never ever do they listen to you, and they always leave the cap off the toothpaste. Mondays remind me of men. Well of course they would if I had one at the moment. I'm between boyfriends. My last one reminded me too much of squash. All squishy and odd, always sitting like a girl. And they taste alright if you manage to mask they're taste with ranch and such. But on an everyday basis he was still squash. Squash can never aspire to be more than squash. They are really quite like my walls. I suppose my walls must rather like knowing that they are not alone. Perhaps they are not so terribly terribly lonely, but were I a beige wall I think it would be just awful awful awful to know that it was like my last boyfriend. Beige walls are probably quite condescending toward vegetables. Why vegetables don't even have seeds. And were they to ever get into a fight with one of my walls- surely the wall knows that it would squish and break and become mush within seconds. Beige walls are quite proud of the fact that they are better than vegetables. They haven't much to be proud of, of course, so they take what they'll get.

The phone gives a little jump and with it I do too. My musings on the debates of walls and squash stop as I sit here and prepare myself for my dramatic break down. It rings and the little nightstand it sits on shakes a little- I forgot to fix the left leg of it and now I regret it. I was all prepared for this moment and yet I forgot something so simple. This could shatter my whole plan. I jump up from my window seat to grab the phonebook on the nightstand and stick it underneath it's left leg. Oh bugger! How stupid of me. How stupid stupid stupid can I possibly be. "Gah!" I shout a little as the phone rings and I realize that I've just blown my entire plan. Ghastly little fickle thing that it was. I sigh and I get up. Oh well- for another day. I leave my ringing phone and I go get a bag of chips and the TV remote.

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next chappie will be more progressive ;)

REVIEW PLEASE!!

toodles-xoxo

Lauryn


	2. Silky Skirts and Throw Pillows

I munch on my chips as I draw the little outline of a skirt. It flips out just barely- enough to make it look like its floating. I love silk skirts that look like they jumped out of a tampon commerical. I stand up and all of a sudden I'm hit with an idea, hurriedly I gather my fabric box and I run to the sewing machine only to realize that using a traditional sewing machine is just silly. I grab my wand and in a flick I have basic cotton cami together and then in a stroke of brilliance it's cutting and sewing a traditional box jacket.

Ah! It'll be just the thing I need when I go to work tomorrow. A flippy silver silky skirt and a harsh wool mustard box jacket. The contrast is just fabulous enough to make my beige walls feel even more insignificant. Even my throw pillow looks a little envious of it. And that's saying something considering that my throw pillow is terribly proud and rather condescending to the other pillows. I tend to go through certain phases with my hobbies. For the last week I've been designing like a mad woman.

What I wear to work really does not matter of course. I'm a librarian. I'll never need any man but Plato and the occasional dip into the fiction section. That's what's great about books. You can live with them and then go live with another book and they'll never ever complain or act offended or call you woman or anything. This of course leaves little time for people who will complain if you go running off with a prince or pirate to fall in love in Barbados.

I check my watch to see the time and realize I'm practically an hour ahead of schedule. Probably from all the time I saved from waiting on the dreadful phone. If only I'd fixed that table leg. With a flick of my wand I do. My wand's very light- in fact most of those who see it would call it pink. It's a rather rosy purplish sort of color- very much so like the candle on my dresser. A light flowery candle- called Brown sugar and fig. That I've already explained to you.

With a pop I apparate into the store- It might just give me time to look around Diagon Alley for a bit. I've only been there for a week, you see I own the bookstore now, against my family's desires. I bought it almost a month ago, and it re-opened a few days ago. Something dreadful happened to the last owner- but we won't talk about it. My throw pillows are very sensitive about things like that.

I've never walked all the way through the alley. I know I know- I should have and I sound as though I'm joking as my feet clack on the cobblestone drive. No one's out at five am and it's just me really and the stores. A few lights on here and there to show someone's home.

Otherwise though the stores loom past me tall and brick with charming little wooden signs hanging out on thick cast iron rods. The signs advertise what the store sells and in the windows people on broomsticks and children with ice cream cones run by in the pictures. It's only too bad my own windows are still naked. Poor things.

I continue to walk and people begin to appear. Oh no. It's just as I thought. A joke shop. Right across from my dear charming bookstore. Ghastly just ghastly! If only I had thought ahead and checked out the stores.

Oh it was such a great offer for such a great place I had just assumed. Well, you know what they say when you assume. You make a donkeys rear out of you and me. If this is across from my dear charming bookstore children will never choose to come to mine. They'll lose out on experiencing literature. I cannot win against a joke store.

Probably just an extension of some huge chain run by really old men who want to feel young I assure myself. It's probably just some mild blood chocolate candy store that wants to deceive you into believing it's a joke shop. Yes. I breathe heavily. And I put my hand to my forehead very melodramatically.

I hate pranks. Haha. It sounds as if I'm making a joke but my brother loves to pull pranks. Gah. I hate them now. At first they were fabulous. A hurling hex here, a color charm there- but going on your first date with lips the size of a quill and the color of pidgeons, is not as humorous as you might think.

Now don't misinterpret me- I love a good laugh and I love to joke around with people. But pranks- oh bother. Oh no- my stomach grumbles sickeningly- I forgot to eat breakfast and the handful of chips an hour ago has left me feeling queasy and lightheaded. As I start to walk across the street my vision begins to get blotchy and the next thing I know I'm tumbling down and blacked out. Bam. Everythings black. Terribly black. Memories start to rush back of childhood visits to graves and black tunnels. Always running away. Always in danger. Always terribly dark. Terribly dark.

Black.

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REVIEW PLEASE!!!!


	3. Death comes at odd times

I'd like to start off by thanking those who reviewed last time xforgottenxmemoriesx and Lovebuggy. Thank you so much. First reviews eeps! Well alright- I suppose this is what you might call the deciding point 3 chapters(albeit short ones) in. If you want me to continue- you'll have to review the story because I as a person am terribly insecure- I don't even care if theyre flames just please review it ;) anywho ya. That was all. If after this point you like the story the chapters will grow from their usual 1000 words to about maybe… 1500? I don't know. And progressively they'll get even bigger I suppose. Yuppity yup. Toodles. I suppose I ought to start writing. Lol.

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In and out. In and out. Things weave through my subconscious like children through a park. A voice here, a flash of hair there, and bam! Back to Black. Nothing thoroughly riveting of course. I keep moving my mouth, or atleast I think I am. All I can think though is that I hope my throw pillows do not get into another argument while I'm away. And if I'm dead well my entire home shall be chaos. I pride myself as being quite the mediator between the fruit bowls, and my pillows. I ought to put that on my resume if I'm alive.

I just lay here, or am I sitting? And I tell myself that I hope I'm alive. A rather big if. I don't know why I'm here- why these shots of pain keep hitting my arms. Well wait just a moment there, golly whollops, you can't feel pain and be dead can you? I suppose I wouldn't really know of course- considering this is my first time being dead. And hopefully the last might I add. Oh gosh- how I do miss being alive.

You see I've already resigned myself to this unfortunate end. How tragic I must seem laying here, well… or sitting. I wonder if I've resumed a rather graceful accepting look on my face. My black hair probably laying charmingly to the side of my face. I sigh, if only I could see it. Perhaps they will write something fabulous about me in my obituary. I hope I was nice enough to people in my lifetime that plenty of people from all sorts of marvelous places shall come to the funeral.

They'll likely have charming stories of times we spent together, and memories we had collectively. Oh if only I could attend. Well of course I shall if it's open casket- but how terribly ungraceful and crude. I in fact refuse the idea of an open casket. I utterly refuse to be put on display for the world to see dead. Oh my! The thought of what ifs flash through my head. What if I don't look utterly poised, and my hair has fallen in my face. That's it, it's final. I simply refuse to be dead. Now is not the time or the place, I am not prepared to be dead.

And with that last thought I open my eyes, and am greeted with the world. "Why hello world!" I say to myself. "How lovely to see you again."

"Well it's lovely to see you too."

"Lookey Fred- she's alive."

"Why I do hope she stops mumbling about beige walls and throw pillows. I was getting rather worried for her home life."

"Ay. Right you are Fred- I simply couldn't have stood it if those vegetables talked back anymore."

"Wouldn't have been able to stand it either George. I know how you feel."

"Excuse me?" I said quite abruptly rather confused as to why and how they'd pryed into my thoughts.

"Well miss, if you were wondering what we were talking about. I believe you were mumbling when you passed out."

"Passed out right cold didn't she George?"

"Rather a shame too, because I always hate to see a pretty face on the ground." The boy winked at me. Oh how awfully odd this all was. Well I should look rather crazy right now I suppose.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean to trouble you." The boy winked at me again. I wonder- am I still knocked out?

"I don't mean to be a bother." I start out,"but, would you by any chance know where we are?"

"Why you're in Diagon Alley, in Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

"That dreadful little prank shop?" I reply with an obvious grimace. I survey the area- it seems just as I feared. A joke shop, complete with flying quills writing very graphic things on the walls. One of the boys I am talking to flips his wand out and stops the quills and such. It appears they are not supposed to be talking about bodily parts.

"I suppose it is."The redhead laughs. They both look so awfully similar- twins? Brothers? Cousins even? Wow, they're just so utterly gorgeous. I feel myself getting into my flirty mood and I scold myself saying, "Self, these two fellows will be back another day hopefully, when you're hair is better." And with this last thought I attempt to stand up but find my knees a tad weak.

One of the pretty redheads offers his hand to me and says, "I'm Fred by the way, and this is my brother George." George winks at me again. Is it possible that he has some sort of eye twitching disease?

((((((home))))))

I stand here and I wait patiently for people to come in. Perhaps they do not know that we're open. In fact- I shall do my best to advertise for the books. That would be rather fabulous. So I walk outside the mahogany door and I stand there smiling with my pretty smile. And do you know what happened? I got asked out. Well, atleast… I think I did. One can hardly be sure anymore.

That pretty boy who helped me earlier came strolling over with a jock walk(and if you my dears have never seen a jock walk then shame on you- I would know- I dated a few) I'm minding my own business smiling cutely at everyone and inviting them in for a cup of tea. And that boy- the one with the eye twitching problem- comes over and stops in front of me and smirks. Yes- smirks- I was rather caught off guard, for it isn't everyday that a cute gentleman comes over and smirks at you, but he wasn't winking and it was sort of off putting. I'd gotten used to it. Oh wait, there it was a wink or a twitch. Nevermind completely unimportant.

"Hey there again- are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm perfectly alright now. Thank you. I think I forgot to earlier- you know, to thank you. Currently I'm trying to intice people to come in for a spot of tea and a book." I'm rambling and I know it. All I want to do is smack myself on the head.

"So you work in the dull place? It's me that should be apologizing to you then. I don't think I could stand working here. Gah."

" Oh this place?" I turn around and I don't know why but my store seems rather unappealing to me. So, I don't know why I did it- but I said something I really do regret. "No."

"Then It's really nice of you to try to help them out. In fact- would you mind being really nice to me and doing me a favor?"

"Anything for someone who helped me out earlier."

He winks at me and I can practically already hear him saying "Anything?" like people do- well men do. But he didn't. Instead he says something that blows me off guard, "Would you mind getting breakfast with me tomorrow before work? I normally wouldn't ask a stranger- but you seem nice, and pr-"

"I'd love to. Where would you like to meet?"

"Well there's this awesome place called, "The Egglectic Café"?"

"Sounds fabulous." And with that I wink at him, and walk inside the store. To where I am now. Still fighting the urge to hit myself. I winked at him! Oh bugger, now he'll think it's a date! I don't even know him! And so I proceed to hit my head on the wall. Bugger bugger bugger.

"Excuse me miss?" Comes a little girls voice. Sweet as sugar.

"Yes hon, may I help you?"

"Well, I'm looking for a book on dragons. A really really big book."

A book on dragons for a little girl is very odd and I mentally note that from experience all red heads are a little off their rockers. Speaking of rockers a nice rocker to sit and read in would be wonderful. But would the rocker get along with the rest of the furniture is the question. They already get into plenty of arguments as it is and if I add another piece of furniture in will they feel like they just weren't enough? However will my window seat react? Oh my, I've forgotten the little girl.

'Well, I'm sure we can find you something. Whose the book for?"

"It's for my uncle, my daddy sent me over here to find him a present so he can put his name on it and my uncle Bill won't think he forgot him again.Except I'm 3 so I'll be able to read this pretty soon. " She taps her chest proudly as if saying that she's a big hot shot.

" Oh my, 3? Well you're awfully smart aren't you?"

"Yup!" She smiles really big at me- I think she likes me. "How old are you?"

"Twenty. Ok come here, can you help me find it?" I know where it is. I practically wrote the book. Poor book has to be in the hands of a 3 year old though. The other books will feel utterly insignificant that they weren't picked. I do hope they don't fall into masochism. I sigh. I feel rather sad for the other books.

"Okey dokey!" And she pops a squat and squints her eyes looking at all the books that aren't going to be chosen.She squints her eyes real good too, until she comes across a book with a picture of a dragon on the binding. It's huge. I don't actually think she can carry it. It's one of the biggest books here- but when her eyes catch sight of the picture they glisten.

"Found it!!! I found it!!!" Oh wow, it's really really quite big. The poor book is quite obese. His self esteem must be shot. I heave it out of the shelf and walk to the counter. That'll be 20 galleons. The little girls eyes get really big and she gasps a little as she says hurriedly she'll be right back. She has to go get her daddy.


	4. Author Note and a lovely one at that

A/N:Why hello again- I am dismayed to inform you that I have been very lax on my duties of recording the tale I've only just begun to spun. You simply must understand however that I am a person with a very busy life. I have a horse, a gorgeous quarterhorse named Kota. I have friends who take precedence over almost everything in my life. I have Harry Potter 7 which I finished yesterday morning, and I have a French boy coming to stay with me in almost a week(eee!). So please do accept my most earnest apologies.

The trouble with relaying the joy and sadness I found in Harry Potter 7 and taking that and channeling it into phrases and stories here is that I do not believe myself to be incredibly brilliant. So as to avoid any confusion simply I will state something I already figured, the story before you is written pre hp7, so therefore my point is that the timeframe is prehp7, and in conclusion the events of hp7 will be documented and incorporated eventually. Kk, well umm… ya.. that's all. Please don't hurt me? Oh- and if you have any questions comments or would simply like to communicate with my lovely self you may review me or on a more alternative note message me( an option found on my page apparently)

Xoxo

Oh and to my reviewers- please please please keep on reviewing, they are appreciated well more than you can imagine. Thank you to the white rabbit, and to steph and forgotten memories. Thanks. Oh right- I have to go grab my notebook and rewrite it all again. K- toodles

- Lauryn.


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